


Born to Make History

by LiamLogan



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Rivals to Lovers, Swearing, Yuri on Ice - Freeform, also yes this was inspired by yuri on ice so was the title sue me idc, but then it was too long, cursing, slowburn, so now we have chapters, this should have been one long fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:03:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26306047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiamLogan/pseuds/LiamLogan
Summary: This was inspired by Yuri on Ice. This was also meant to be a gift to celebrate a one year anniversary which, as I post the first chapter, was six days ago. Logan and Roman are both competitive figure skaters with two distinct styles of skating. After a long and not-too-intense history, they grew to despise each other and now, both their styles of skating are to be displayed and shown off. After a tragic accident, however, Roman seeks the teachings of his rival, while Logan grapples with the struggle that something Roman has simply cannot be taught.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhizzerMyMan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhizzerMyMan/gifts).



> This is a much slower burn than I thought it was going to be so I'm posting several chapters rather than just the intended one. I hope you all enjoy, any feedback is greatly appreciated! :D

Music hummed throughout the room, a vivid and dynamic tune that made Logan’s heart thump to its beat. With the sun settling over the horizon, his room appeared as if he were viewing it through gold-tinted glasses. Shadows from his hanging plants danced with the music: leaves, like arms, throwing themselves in the air with the same twists and curves as a real dancer; the red fruits of his wild strawberries next to the window smiled at home with blush as if they’d just finished their routine; the pots were their stage and, although as limiting as all stages are, they held such movement and life and beauty. Logan stood, kicking his swivel chair back behind him, his headphones still stuck in his computer, and leant outside the window. The sun blinded him, but the sweetness in the breeze was irresistible. He faced the wind, letting it blow back his hair, and squinted at the sky, admiring all the colours, a muse, that would later be present on some stranger’s canvas, some screen, or behind some eyelids on a bad day. A golden glow had been cast on everything the sunbeams touched, and a faint breeze wiped away the closeness it brought. Most regrettably, as Logan leant farther out the window, the window on the apartment opposite opened, and Roman Garcia allowed his hair to be blown back and skin be painted in the golden hour just like Logan. Audaciously, Roman cocked his head in Logan’s direction and, though it wasn’t visible, smiled and winked. Logan felt it, the audacity and arrogance and pride. He turned the music up to more than a hum. Even with his headphones, the music blasted in his room. When the song finished, he retreated back into his apartment, slamming the window shut. The curtains fell flat behind him, no longer billowing with the wind as they once were. Logan glared at all things around him, the plants’ shadows no longer dancing with his music but resting still as if trembling. His temper seeped out of him, twisting the soft golden tints to a harsh, wicked red. He bit his tongue until it tasted blood and ground his teeth until he ached. He awarded himself one last look at Roman Garcia’s apartment, taking a greatly annoying pleasure in seeing him absent from his window.

When the sun had just sunk below the horizon, throwing a deep shade of blue into his living room, Roman threw himself onto his sofa, clutching imaginary pearls and swirling imaginary champagne. He allowed his legs to flail wherever they landed, before collapsing from the sheer _drama_ of it all. Having quickly grown bored, he flung himself back up, and settled his eyes on his fish tank, inhabited entirely by guppies. He watched and listened, entranced by the way they glided through the water and seemed to always be able to avoid bumping into one another. Remnants of blue light from the sky reached the tank, highlighting the backdrop meant to mimic a pond – obviously the artist had never seen a real pond given how pristine and clean the design seemed. Roman listened to the filter, how it hummed and droned incessantly. He started to imagine how life would be different if he hadn’t moved to his new town, or at least didn’t live opposite Logan Paz, and didn’t have to open his blinds to see his face, his movements, a little snapshot of his life. Furthermore, he imagined how Logan saw him; Logan, too, only saw Roman from a distance or, when they each had the misfortune of passing each other in public outside of ‘work’, he didn’t see the real Roman. In a different life, one where hiding were not so easy and authenticity not so hard, he imagined how they might see each other differently. Instead, Roman was stuck behind a cheap façade of indifference and coldness – even pretentiousness. When Logan would smile Roman would have to glare, when he would laugh he would have to scoff, and when he would triumph he would have to doubt. No good word anyone would put in for Roman would redeem him in Logan’s eyes; such vanity and antagonism and other vices were not to be treated with virtue of forgiveness. So, Roman would sneer up close and adore from afar. He imagined various worlds, all alternatives of the same premise, for too many hours for him to know and not enough for him to care.

Summer days had the good fortune of an early sunrise, with light being a far preferable alarm clock to the shrill ring of a phone. Light poured into the room, and the melodious tune of birds outside awoke Logan within minutes. With haste, he leapt out of bed and twirled into his uniform. Dusting himself off, he grabbed a breakfast of an iced coffee, a banana, and a granola bar, the latter two of which he shoved into his bag while he sipped his drink fervently. He slipped on his shoes, felt around his pockets to ensure everything had stayed in its proper place, and left, getting halfway down the stairs of his apartment block before turning back around to ensure the door was locked (it was).

Logan arrived at the arena for the thousandth time and, for the thousandth time, cast his eyes on the smaller, weaker, and clumsier man before him. Roman Garcia did not trigger a hot rage when they were to take to the rink but, more appropriately, a bitter coldness. An iciness that itself was hard to ignore but made ignoring Roman all the more obvious. Logan stuck his nose in the air and strode past him with his arms firmly by his sides.

Roman felt cold in more ways than one. Despite seeing Logan Paz walk by him sourly every day, he had never grown accustomed to it. With a brave face, he looked up at him as he strained to tie his skates.

“You look like a little boy who just transitioned from Velcro and can’t quite tie his laces on his ‘big boy shoes’ yet!” He hollered.

“And you look like a grown man who doesn’t even known how to have breakfast without getting it everywhere.” Logan pointed and gestured menacingly around his mouth. Blushing, Roman wiped his face. The two would have their hour of warm-up before they would get to showcase themselves to visitors. Ice-skating, to them both, was a display of the soul – no dancer or artist would dispute – and everything about them once they entered the arena (before, even, the rink itself) was a build-up to their final forms. Logan’s blades were classically silver, while Roman’s were a flashy gold. Logan, once changed from his inconspicuous street uniform, dressed like a panther, a snugly fit all-black outfit complemented by a deep navy blue around his shoulders and a flame-like pattern up his shins. Meanwhile, Roman rejected the notion of a painted-on, patterned flame; with his vibrant hot colours of red and orange and yellow with tassels of the same colours, with every movement he caught on fire.

Showy, loud, bright, thought Logan. He turned to his friend Virgil, who handed him his contact lenses in exchange for his glasses.

“Are you nervous?” He asked with a slight tremble. Virgil’s eyes were dark and bright but his skin pale almost to translucence. If the night sky were reversed, with the whiteness of the moon acting as a backdrop for the dark abyss of space, it would almost match Virgil perfectly. Logan smiled subtly, more like a pretentious smirk.

“Of course not.” He looked over at Roman, his arms straining to tie his last lace tightly enough. When he was done, he stared right back. He did not glare, nor attack, he merely met Logan’s stare with him. It wasn’t until Virgil squeezed Logan’s hand, and that Patton tapped Roman’s shoulder, that the staring ceased.

“Yeah, you’ll be fine I mean you have so much time to practise and it’s not like you don’t know what you’re doing.” Virgil spluttered, raising himself up and down on his toes and interlacing his own fingers together. When he wasn’t speaking, he was biting at his lips incessantly.

“You’re more worried than I am.” Logan stared back at Roman in the last few seconds before they would be allowed on the ice. He kissed Patton on the cheek subtly and quickly.

“Stop staring Logan! You’re so rude!” Virgil clicked his fingers to keep Logan’s eyes on him to no avail; the rink opened, and Logan took to the ice like a duckling would take to water. But Logan was no duckling. When Logan’s blades touched the ice, a swan flew over the rink. He mesmerised his fellow skaters, few though they were, with his elegance and control.

When Roman was not thinking of Logan, he was thinking of himself. Logan’s blades may be silver but his skating was golden and well-deserving of all the awards he had won. But when Roman skated, he became a tiger. Eyes fixed on him for his fierceness and, though he wasn’t technically perfect, his showiness made him an exciting delight to the heart. A feast for the eyes. Many of Roman’s routines when he skated were the ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ types; his jumps were high but quick, his step sequences intricate and neat, and his spins always hid a surprise – and this was just during the warm-up. When the hour ended, he and his four fellow skaters exited the ice, and a small audience came in and occupied barely half the available seating around the rink. Roman watched them talk with each other, or their faces get lit up by phone screens, or stare blankly as the Zamboni smoothened the ice of grooves. Patton met him by the café accompanying the rink, bringing him a coffee. Roman took it in his hands but did not sip. His hands absorbed the heat but would not stop shivering.

“Your warm-up was really excellent,” Patton beamed, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, “it’s okay to be nervous, but whatever happens you deserve to be very pleased with yourself!”

“Thank you. I hope they like it.” There was less than a hundred people. Almost a hundred. He couldn’t decide which was worse: the daunting prospect of almost one hundred people getting to see him skate, or the soul-crushing heartbreak of only one hundred people interested in what his skating had to say.

“I’m sure they’ll love it!” Patton interrupted Roman’s thoughts before they strayed too far.

“I hope so – but it isn’t like it’s a competition!”

“It isn’t!”

“The stakes are low!”

“They are!”

“It will be fine!”

“It will!”

“We can do this!”

“We can!” The first skater got called on the rink. Today was not a competition, Roman reminded himself, and there was no winner nor a loser. There was an audience because its members wanted to see the best skaters the city could offer. And Roman had been asked to join, to be seen and labelled as the best in the city, and be put in the same league as Logan Paz. It wasn’t a competition, but it surely was momentous. Roman would be the last skater, immediately following Logan.

“You should sit down.” Logan said, noticing how Virgil gripped the rink’s wall, how he managed to hide his winces from anyone who didn’t know him.

“You don’t mind?” Virgil was breathless. His knees were shaking and his legs tense.

“You’re in pain, Virgil, of course I don’t mind – look, I’ll even come with you to pick a seat so you’re not by yourself.” Logan held out an arm for Virgil to cling onto, and he escorted him to the best available seats – of which there were many.

“Thank you.” Virgil managed to say. His whole body was tense, and his legs twitched.

“Did you walk here?” Virgil nodded. Logan battled to keep level-faced; if he had the wrong tone of voice or wrong facial expression, Virgil would be in a very different kind of pain. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I had just missed the bus and I didn’t want to be late and my health insurance doesn’t cover the full amount for a wheelchair so I didn’t have enough money for a taxi and I won’t get the chair for another few days and I didn’t want to be late!” Logan held up his hand to stop Virgil spluttering on and upsetting himself further.

“I would never be mad at you for being late.” The first skater’s routine finished and the second one got called to the ice. The audience clapped, at least in part out of politeness.

“You should probably go.”

“I should. Take care of yourself, alright? I’ll be with you at the end, after Roman’s done.” Logan smiled before turning on his blades and striding away with all the perfect balance as if he weren’t in skates. Virgil rubbed his legs and reminisced. The agony didn’t go away. It wasn’t numbed by his happy memories. But they gave him something to focus on.

Roman and Patton watched as the skaters went by. Their music choices were dim, generic, and they didn’t match the beat and rhythm at all.

“I swear white people have never heard of beat in their lives. Why are they jumping there?” Patton whispered.

“Ice skating is a sport dominated by white people so they don’t know how much better it could be. If you had the balance, you’d be really good at it.” Roman smiled. As he looked around the other skaters, and the audience members, and the staff around him, even in the café, his smile faltered. Patton was the only black man he saw, and he was the only Latino. It seemed Remus couldn’t make it.

“I do have balance!” He protested loudly. “I just don’t want to get my fingers sawed off when I fall!”

“You wouldn’t fall if you had balance!”

“Okay, you got me there.” The two laughed. As the last non-Logan skater completed their routine, they fell silent.

“Am I still invited to see you sing tomorrow?” Roman asked, disturbing the quiet between them. Patton smiled.

“No, I thought I’d invite you and organise it all and tell the whole church you were coming just to cancel the day before but not tell you until you asked.”

“Wait – did you actually?” Roman dropped his (fortunately empty) coffee cup. He started to shake but neither from cold nor lack of balance.

“No of course I didn’t!” Patton held out a hand in defence. “I wouldn’t do that! Sorry to concern you like that I always forget you take things seriously!” Roman let go a sigh of relief and went to grab his cup. Logan got called onto the ice. Forgetting entirely of the conversation at hand, Roman rushed to the brink of the rink to watch the swan fly.

Logan always picked a relaxed piece of music to accompany his skating; if it had lyrics at all, they were sung so slowly that, by the time the singer reached the end of the line, the beginning of it would already be forgotten. This was no exception: the tune of Debussy’s Clair de Lune fluttered through the arena like a delicate butterfly. Logan flew across the ice gracefully, spinning during the slow parts and jumping as a major chord occurred, doubles and triples with such height to make his audience gasp. Collectively, they held their breath as they watched his performance. Although Logan stuck exclusively to the jumps regarded as easiest (toe loops, salchows, and flips), they were all equally impressive to the amateur audience, who dared not applaud just yet. At the very end, as the last of the piano keys tuned, Logan ended his flawless routine with another flawless sitting spin. As the last note hung in the air, he stood upright and posed with his arms reaching towards the ceiling. Realising that he was done, everyone applauded. Logan looked towards Virgil, who had the widest smile on his face and a touch of colour to his cheeks (though most likely from cold, Logan entertained the thought of him simply being proud). He dropped his arms and bowed, still out of breath, before gliding to the gate. He didn’t even notice Roman and Patton, which was fortunate considering the glares they had glued to their faces. Had he seen them, whatever words came from his sharp tongue would have ruined Roman’s performance.

“Say what you will about him as a person,” Patton mumbled, “but he sure can skate.”

“Say what I will? He’s arrogant. And pretentious. Didn’t you see him pretending not to see us? Who does he think he is?”

“He sure is, but you have far more reason to be arrogant. Don’t lose to him, okay?” Roman smiled at Patton. With a quick and discreet kiss on the cheek, he glided to the centre of the rink. Drums pounded and trumpets blasted. Without any momentum, Roman jumped a single toe loop which – despite being an easy enough jump – to do before any movement and land straight into such energetic step sequences instantly made the audience stand up and cheer. His music, Latin Swirl, was like all his favourite salsa music in that it was fast, dynamic, exciting, so it came to no surprise that the audience instantly started clapping along to his music and skating. He smiled and waved and gestured where he could, bringing the audience – now his friends and family – onto the ice with him, inviting them to share in his art. As he spun, his colours became more than a little flame on the wick of a candle, but a bonfire fuelled by the endless cheers and applause around him. His routine was the shortest of all five skaters, but he received the most attention. However, the universe craves balance and longs for equilibrium; with just one more jump to go, Roman over-rotated. Or under-rotated. He achieved neither a single nor a double salchow. Having lost his balance and a spike of anxiety shooting through him like a harpoon, he couldn’t save himself with a hand. Roman fell, sprawling over the ice. Shaking, he tried to push himself up, but adrenaline shook his arms. The audience’s cruel gasp of horror only made him trip again. When eventually he managed to scramble to his feet, the routine was seconds away from closure. He skated shamefully to the centre of the ice where he had started, blinked heavily to keep his face dry, and posed dramatically with the best smile he could muster. The bright lights glared into his eyes and the supportive hollers from the crowd around him overwhelmed him, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see right, all the sounds became too much, like a crack of thunder to his brain that would not stop. His skin crawled under his costume that suddenly felt too tight. He shook, tears fell that he didn’t notice, and he knew one thing: that he had to hide. Skating to the gate to get away, he grabbed Patton by the wrist and led him to the restroom where, for at least a few minutes, he might find the refuge he needed.

“Pathetic.” Logan mumbled. Virgil stared at him with a blank disgust. “He can’t handle a bit of failure?” Virgil considered for a moment.

“You’d call that failure?” He asked, turning his gaze towards the ice once more.

“Actually? No. He just made a mistake that I’m sure he’ll focus on for a little too long and just ignore that the rest of his performance was stellar.”

“You liked his skating, then? I thought you hated him…”

“Oh, he’s quite detestable as a person – do you notice how often he puts others down?”

“And you don’t do that?”

“But his skating is creditable.”

“Answer me, Logan.”

“He hates me back, so I’m allowed to put him down, too!” Logan protested. Virgil obviously had his doubts, but he smirked. He handed Logan his glasses case.

“Are you staying for the public skate?” Virgil asked, turning away as Logan jabbed at his eyes to take out the contacts. Logan shook his head.

“Not right now. I’ll come tonight, though. Janus usually lets me practise after hours.” He looked at Virgil and how he shook. He respected his friend far too much to pity him. “Will you stay with me until then? I’ll cook for you, you can stay the night, and you don’t have to come back here with me if you don’t want to… I’ve just had a lonely few days.” Virgil’s gaze lingered on Logan for an uncomfortable amount of time and he still didn’t say he was joking. He considered, but he knew the answer before he even had to do that.

“I’d love to.” Logan smiled and held out his arm. They made their way to Logan’s apartment together.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman goes to Patton's house where they discuss food, and Virgil goes to Logan's house where they discuss space. Their friendships strengthen along the way <3 XD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot remember exactly what happened in this chapter hence the vague summary but! I hope you enjoy nonetheless.

Patton handed Roman another tissue. He was no longer in such a bad shape, he wasn’t quivering as much, he wasn’t choking on his own breath, and he didn’t have to close his eyes and cover his ears at every stimulus. Still, his eyes kept crying.

“I’m so sorry about this.” Roman mumbled as he wiped his nose.

“Don’t worry man, you can’t help it.” Patton replied in a gentle and hushed tone.

“It wasn’t that I messed up, I need you to believe me, I can handle falling down, you know? It was just all the noise and the lights and I just lost it.”

“A sensory overload?”

“That’s the bitch.”

“I think if you stopped forgetting you had ADHD, you’d make a lot more sense to yourself.” Patton smirked. Roman breathed through his nose as a polite gesture of laughter.

“ADHD makes me forget I have ADHD and then has the audacity to make me hate myself for having ADHD and forgetting about it.”

“Yeah, that makes total sense.” Patton smirked. “That was sarcasm, by the way. Let me know when you’re ready to show your face to the world and then we’ll leave, okay?” Roman stayed in his stall for some more minutes, sniffling and wiping at his face. His heart slowed as he relaxed, and everything fell back into place. He splashed his face with cold water, squeezed his own hand, smiled, and walked back towards the benches by the rink. With Patton unable to skate, he put on his regular shoes and followed him to his house.

Patton lived in a small house that would be perfect for two people. Instead, it accommodated one person, three cats, and baskets and baskets of antihistamines. Patton led Roman straight into the kitchen and made some tea. At its door hung a small cross with slight scratches and scrapes clinging to the bottom and the ends of each arm slightly shinier than the rest.

“Why is this on this door? It’s usually at the entrance, isn’t it?” Asked Roman, pointing a finger at the cross but not daring to get close enough to touch it.

“Usually! I just wanted my food, in particular, to be blessed.” Patton replied perkily as he stirred the tea and handed a cup to Roman. He took it gratefully and with calm, steady hands.

“You’re a great cook. You’d make a great restaurant owner if you let yourself be paid for it.” Roman smirked. He hadn’t said a word and Patton hadn’t even offered, but he was still bringing ingredients out of the cupboard and fridge.

“If I’m such a great cook, doesn’t everyone deserve to eat what I make? If I charged anything, people wouldn’t be able to eat it and that’s not what cooking is about!” Patton sliced his vegetables with such mastery, Roman blinked and entire onions were diced, whole celery sticks chopped, and the pan full already as a gentle sizzling sound settled around his kitchen.

“I can’t argue that.” Roman replied. Patton fixed his eyes onto Roman, his dark brown eyes staring at him through thick, round glasses, and Roman stared back with his eyes on his glasses frames. Roman felt something soft press against his legs. Looking down, he saw a small void of a cat stare back up at him. After a meow, Roman reached down for some pets, before it turned and sauntered away.

“All the recipes I’ve seen call for one teaspoon of chilli flakes.” Patton commented, adding three teaspoons of chilli flakes.

“What are you making?”

“Hoppin’ John! It’s a rice dish with loads of vegetables and black-eyed beans. Don’t worry, there’s no meat, not even in the stock.” Roman smiled as Patton stirred the pan. “It’s one of my favourite meals, I hope you like it.”

“I’m sure I will; it smells like arroz con gandules.” Patton covered the pan and left it simmering as he led Roman to his living room. “And like I said, you’re an _amazing_ cook.”

When the time came, after almost half an hour, Roman understood within a moment why Patton enjoyed making this meal as much as he did, and all his statements rang particularly true: Patton sure was an excellent cook. He scooped out what they didn’t eat into six Tupperware boxes. On each, he wrote ‘Church Food Kitchen’.

Logan tightened his laces one last time. Virgil had gone to the bathroom. Janus watched him from the opposite bench.

“I can’t believe he let you cater for him like that.” He muttered, keeping his eyes on Logan’s hands.

“I just told him I’d been feeling lonely, so it seemed more like he was doing me a favour.” Logan replied, standing up and dusting off his perfectly clean jeans.

“That’s pretty manipulative.”

“If I hadn’t, he’d have tortured himself. I’ll manipulate him as much as I need if it keeps him safe.”

“I know you will and that’s almost why I’m worried.” Janus sighed. He watched Logan blatantly ignore him as he marched towards the ice.

“What do you know?” Virgil asked, leaning on the wall. Janus gestured for him to use a bench.

“Just that Logan will do what it takes to keep being the best…”

“Oh!” Virgil perked up and let himself smile. “So you liked his skating earlier today?”

“Of course I did, I’m pretty sure everyone watching _loved_ him.” He lowered his voice as he turned towards Virgil. “But he knows that once Roman gets his act together, he’ll surpass him easily.”

“What makes you think that?” Virgil asked harshly. Janus rolled his eyes and stormed to sit on the bench besides him.

“I don’t want to be too loud. Here’s the thing: Logan is by far more impressive according to a professional standard. His jumps are more complex and the technicalities behind his routines are the hardest I think I’ve ever seen in this rink. But what did that mean to _them_?” Subtly, he gestured to the audience seats and looked back at Virgil, his eyebrows slightly raised. “Logan is impressive, but Roman is exciting. He’s fun. Logan could do nothing but quads and combos and whatever spin he likes with his arms up, but he can’t be taught the kind of charm that Roman has.”

“Why can’t he?” Virgil asked, trying desperately to hide his winces. Janus didn’t say a word; his eyes turned to Logan and, as Virgil’s followed, he started to understand. Logan’s face was blank. The way he moved wasn’t robotic as in stiff – he was fluid and moved like a stream – but everything seemed just like an algorithm. His skating was an art piece hidden in computer code. Janus stood up and went to lean back on the half-wall around the ice. Virgil tried to push himself up to follow, but pain surged through his legs and he collapsed back on the bench again, too far away to see Logan when he skated to the other side of the rink. Wordlessly, Janus slid to the far wall, past the empty café, and brought over a penguin the size of a child with handlebars sticking out on each side of its head.

“We usually give these to people who struggle on the ice,” he explained, “but you look desperate enough on the ground.”

“If anyone else said that, I’d be offended.” Virgil grinned, clutching the skating aid and shuffling over to the wall by Janus’s side watching Logan leap.

“Go for the quads!” Janus shouted. Logan stopped in his tracks. He peered at them from such a distance that his expression was impossible to make out.

Logan listed the jumps in his mind: he could do the toe loop and salchow with ease, as was expected of him. The flip and the loop were harder. He looked at Virgil and how he struggled just to stay standing even when clinging to the wall. He wouldn’t ever attempt the axel. He thought for a moment, letting his mind wander. Suddenly, he was sat on the chairs with Virgil, who smiled and clapped for his opponent, and the crowd around cheered and roared for something so sloppy, something so far away from perfect, yet so enchanting. He banished the thought of the thought before it could even take itself seriously. He continued to skate, steering away from the wall around corners with ease, leaning onto the sides of his blades. Facing away from his two spectators, he smiled widely and as genuinely as he could. His lip split and stung and bled.

“Fucker,” he mumbled barely audibly. He turned back around. “Do you have any events coming up anytime soon?” He asked Janus, skating back towards the wall.

“Not here, but there’s a competition just out of town.” Janus replied, resting his chin in his hands.

“How long have you known?” Logan blinked in surprise.

“Probably just less than two weeks.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Logan noticed Virgil’s wide eyes and face somehow even paler. He did his best to soften his expression.

“Because Remus runs the place. Roman’s brother? Yeah, I didn’t think you’d like that.”

“How do I sign up?”

“ _You_ don’t.” Janus hissed. He leant over the wall with his face as close to Logan’s as he could reach. “I have to transfer you.”

“Will you do that for me, please?” Logan asked. Behind his back, he crossed his fingers for luck. He lingered his pleading stare on Janus for several uncomfortable seconds. Finally, he conceded.

“Land a quadruple flip and I’ll call him in the morning.” He sighed reluctantly. Logan nodded, building momentum as he spiralled around the centre of the rink. He turned again and again before taking off, flying. One, two, three, and final rotation. He landed roughly, only keeping himself from sprawling all over the ice with by pushing himself up with his hand. That’d be a point reduction in competition, he thought. Janus blinked in surprise.

“Can you call him _now_?” Logan asked. Janus half-grinned, toeing the line between pride and spite. He turned towards the café, yanking his phone out of his pocket. Logan turned to Virgil with glee, his lip stinging even more. Virgil, ever wincing and tense, hopped over the wall and onto the ice, finding a home in the familiarity. Bladeless, he pushed himself towards Logan, who took him in with an open arm.

“That was so cool! Just please don’t do a quad in competition!” He smiled up to Logan’s face. His eyes were wide and glistened. Logan couldn’t help but smile back. Together, they left Janus to his arena and walked back to Logan’s apartment under the night sky.

Logan spoke about the stars and planets in disjointed, fragmented facts that only made sense to himself. As his gaze never wandered from the endless space above and around him, Virgil had had to grab his arm or shoulder to stop him wandering into fast-moving traffic or walking into a pole.

“Look at that bitch!” He exclaimed, pointing up at a particularly bright star. “It’s Venus!”

“So,” Virgil humoured him, “what do you know about that, then?”

“A day on Venus lasts longer than a year on Venus!”

“Wait, how does that work?”

“We don’t know exactly why it has a retrograde rotation but some people think it used to not do that, but it flipped its axis a hundred and eighty degrees, making it appear – oh and guess what!”

“What?”

“There’s something on the moon and nobody quite knows what it is.”

“Wait _what_?”

“It’s called the South Pole-Aitken Basin anomaly! Oh, and also, a fun fact about Saturn is that it has a radius of just over thirty-six _thousand_ miles which is nine times more than the Earth’s but we’re far denser so the mass of Saturn is only about an eighth of ours.” Logan kept reciting his ‘fun facts’ all the way back to his apartment. By the time the door closed, a sliver of pink emerged from over the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Any feedback is greatly appreciated! :D


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an eventful morning with Patton and getting to see only a small part of what he works for, Roman makes the fateful decision that might just help redeem him.

A sliver of pink emerged from the horizon. Patton’s alarm rung, alerting him instantly. He bounded out of bed with a such a spring it was a wonder he didn’t leap out the window. He stormed excitedly past the guest bedroom and down towards the kitchen. Dawn had yet to break enough for him to see. Flipping on each light, he immediately started gathering whatever ingredients he had left over: bread, eggs, and milk. He started working immediately. Leaving the bread to soak for a short while, he fed his cats, who thanked him noisily, and, sniffling, swallowed his pills with a shiver.

Roman rubbed his eyes grumpily as he sat up. His room was still dark, shadows looming and creeping across the floor and walls, silently screeching a warning of doom and peril to him. He glared into the abyss before yawning, throwing himself back against the mattress, and reaching for his phone by his side. Even on its lowest setting, the brightness burned his eyes and he had to squint. Amongst all the blaring light, he noticed a notification from Remus.

“You will not believe what that _bastard_ has done now!” Roman tripped over his own feet, shaking.

“I think I will.” Patton replied calmly, flipping the beginnings of French toast in his pan.

“He got his friend to transfer him to Remus’s competition next month!”

“That really isn’t that unbelievable.”

“He is vile and cruel!” Roman didn’t even look at Patton. He was typing violently, his thumbs moving so fast they became a blur – it was a miracle his phone screen didn’t break below them. Patton sighed, reticent.

“If you say so. Now sit down, I just made something for you.” With a huff, Roman pulled a stool and sat by the counter. Within a minute, Patton had pushed a plate in front of him with a golden slab topped with red and blue jewels.

“You know I love French toast.” He spoke between mouthfuls. Despite his best efforts and struggles, all his anger dissipated. “How much are you making?”

“I’m not doing you three plates again, no matter how hungry you think you are! Have you ever been to a Black church in the south?” Roman shook his head, his eyes filled to the brim with curiosity. Patton smiled. “I can promise you right now: you’re going home with five plates of things people made. They do not take no for an answer.” Patton laughed as he ate, closing his eyes in appreciation for just a moment.

“I thought the food you took in was for a kitchen to feed the homeless?”

“Yeah, that too. Everyone brings in enough for _everyone_. You’ll see.”

As Patton said, Roman did indeed see: people balancing trays of foiled-over food in their hands and all up their arms like an exhausted waiter would carry dirtied dishes, young children carrying plates the size of car wheels with stacks of bread rolls, cupcakes, and pastries. Even outside where the air was fresh and cold wind blowing, Roman could smell it all: cumin particularly stood out, but garlic seemed to come from everywhere. When Patton guided him inside, every single table was already full. Some people had drawn out chairs to put their plates on. Roman looked around, searching for anyone who looked like they might be in charge, and found nobody. There was no guidance, no direction, but there was also no chaos – just an overwhelming amount of generosity and hospitality. Seeing more and more people with bright eyes and wide smiles bring in more and more food, Patton seemed to make more sense.

“You look upset, do we need to go outside?” Patton asked, squeezing Roman’s hand.

“No, it’s fine,” Roman’s eyes kept frantically searching for instruction, “is there anywhere we need to be?”

“No, not yet. We still have…” Patton stood high on his toes, counting the heads of everyone in sight. “Eighteen… Nineteen… Twenty… We still have two more families to arrive and then we’ll start. Don’t worry, I’ll be with you right up until I have to join the choir, then all you will need to do is stay sat where you’re put until I come back, got it?”

“Got it.” Roman took a deep breath.

“Nobody will talk to you while I’m gone. If you talk during the singing, it’s like the eighth deadly sin.” The two smiled. Despite the noise, the crowd, and everything to see and smell and, eventually, taste, Roman had never felt safer.

In the past, Roman had heard Patton sing while he cooked. He would hum while he waited, stirred, or mixed. He would sing along quietly to familiar songs on the radio as he drove Roman to Janus’s ice arena, or to church. In the past, Roman would have said ‘Patton has a _nice_ voice’. In the past, Roman hadn’t heard him – not really. Patton sang like an angel. Roman found it hard to be anxious listening to his voice. Both in group and solo, Patton settled the room into one of adoration, admiration, and, for some people, tears. One woman in front of him pulled up a cloth and dabbed around her face. When all was done, Patton found Roman’s eyes, and smiled. As the group disbanded, Patton immediately hopped to Roman.

“I have no words,” he said quietly, “to describe what you sound like.” Patton blushed.

“Did the last note sound good? I worked so hard and practised so much I was worried –”

“It sounded _amazing_! Thanks for letting me come!” Patton smiled but looked down. Then, suddenly, he gasped.

“We need to go outside, the kitchen will be open soon!”

When all was done, Patton had turned out to be wrong. Roman didn’t go home with five containers of food. Laying them all out on his table, Roman found himself with eight. He looked at his phone, finding it was still early afternoon, and then peered out his window to Logan’s apartment across the street. The light was on, and the curtains drawn back. Knowing his presence would irk him greatly, Roman decided to pay Logan a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! :D


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman makes what seems like a preposterous request but, when Logan considers the stakes, quickly agrees. The two spend some time together, something close to a bond, until one of Logan's insensitive comments brings up the tension once more. When he confers with Virgil, Logan isn't sure he made the right choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Logan and Roman are both problematic characters and they will only become more unlikable but that's called characterization and growth bb. I hope you enjoy! :D

Logan sat down, kicking his feet to spin himself around, before getting tangled in the wires of his headphones. Unravelled, he hit play, and the same song from the prior evening played. Logan pressed his fingertips together and tried to envision any kind of choreography, where he might jump, where he might spin. Nothing came. His heart raced and breathing quickened in time with the music. It was all too fast, with too many layers, and just too much. As it ended, and he became more aware of ambient noises, he heard a loud and heavy knock on his door. They were marked and deliberate, as if their maker had grown impatient. He opened the door and resisted every urge he had to shut it in Roman’s face.

“What do _you_ want?” He asked through gritted teeth. Roman stepped forwards, keeping his eyes on Logan’s glasses, rather than his eyes.

“I want you to teach me to land more doubles and triples.” Roman replied firmly, planting his foot in the way of where the door would go should Logan decide to slam it.

“You have the audacity to come to my doorstep and won’t even credit me with quads?”

“Do you think I _could_ land quads?”

“No, of course I don’t, but I need you to know that _I_ can.”

“Will you teach me?” Roman pleaded. Logan’s face remained stern.

“Why are you asking _me_?” Logan’s voice grew in suspicion.

“Do you want the truth or do you want me to satisfy your way-too-big ego?”

“The truth.” Logan lied. Roman smirked maliciously.

“Remus texted me that you’re entering his competition and – well, you didn’t think I wasn’t going, too, right?”

“So, you think you won’t win without my help?”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Roman considered, “Yes, that’s exactly what I think.” Logan waited. Roman stood still and with sincerity. He didn’t laugh it off like a prank. He didn’t cry and grovel and beg. He simply stood with a stone face of determination.

“If you win,” Logan started, “you can have all the prizes and glory and recognition that would come with such a feat.”

“Thank you.”

“But you will never try to compete against me again.” Roman’s already-faint smile faltered. Nevertheless, he acquiesced and invited himself into Logan’s apartment. Logan didn’t protest; he watched Roman scuttle to the window by his laptop and gaze across the street.

“So! _This_ is what I look like to you!” He clapped his hands together excitedly. “Aw, it’s a shame you can’t see my fish tank.” Logan’s ears practically perked up like a dog.

“You have a fish tank?” He asked curiously.

“I do! You should come visit one day; they’d love to meet you!”

“They, the fish?” Logan laughed as Roman nodded vigorously. Then, he gasped.

“Are you busy now? Are you hungry? I’m not doing anything for the rest of the day so if you’re free then –”

“Roman, I can’t understand you when you’re speaking so quickly.” Logan said calmly. Roman bounced on his toes, his hands moving so quickly they became a blur.

“Are you _hungry_?” He asked with wide, concentrating eyes. Taken aback, Logan stuttered for a while.

“Not particularly?” He managed to say eventually. Before Roman could look too deflated, Logan’s stomach rumbled. He turned red instantly.

“Follow me!” Before Logan could protest, he was already out the door. Logan looked back, but eventually conceded, and followed.

“You can feed them if you want.” Roman said, startling Logan to his core. He’d been so entranced in the way the fish swam he’d forgotten where he was. Roman held out his arm, a tub of fish flakes in his hand. Logan took it, and shook them into the water. Within seconds, they all flocked to the surface, their vibrant neon colours flashing through the tank. Logan couldn’t help but smile.

“Are they guppies?” He asked to fill the silence. His voice sounded blank, but not more so than the reply. He was met with silence. He looked up to an empty room. His eyes and heart became cold. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and turned back to see the fish, admiring their colourful tails. Then, he heard a thump on the floor behind him. Turning back around, he saw Roman shuffling eight containers around the floor and two small paper plates.

“I know you said you weren’t hungry,” Roman said, crossing his legs as he sat, “but even my oblivious ass can tell that was a lie.” He gestured for Logan to sit with him. He mirrored Roman’s position, but didn’t take anything.

“Why did you make so much? Do you pre-prepare your meals or something?” Logan asked. Roman had to suppress his laughter.

“I didn’t make any of this,” he explained with a smile, “my friend took me to his church today and they all just _gave_ it to me.”

“Your _friend_?” Logan asked. He hadn’t ever seen Roman spend time with anyone else, except Patton.

“What, do you think I don’t have friends?” Roman’s tone quickly turned accusatory, juxtaposed with Logan’s ever-calm one.

“I didn’t think Patton was just a friend to you, is all.”

“I – wait, what? What… What made you think Patton was my… My boyfriend?”

“I don’t notice a lot of people kiss their _friends_ on the cheek.”

“Maybe not _here_ , you don’t.” Roman said harshly. He sharpened his glare and pointed it at Logan.

“What do you mean?”

“In Puerto Rico, _friends_ kiss each other on the cheek all the time. Sure, he’s not Puerto Rican, but I am and my culture is important to me and _he_ knows that. And I want to say I’m sorry if my want to engage with my culture and customs upsets your preconceived notions of what friendship is, but I’m really not. Get over it or get out – I don’t need you that badly.” Roman’s face turned red. His chest rose and fell quickly. His sharp and hardened eyes had no room for tears.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you.” Logan bowed his head. Roman didn’t say a word. “I will be more understanding and respectful.”

“That’s it?” Roman asked after a pause. “No ‘sorry _if_ I was offensive’ or ‘it was just a joke’?” Roman cocked his head and leant forwards.

“That wouldn’t be very sincere of me.” Logan said bluntly. Roman nodded in surprised agreement. Logan said nothing else. He simply sat and ate in silence. He enjoyed it far more than he let show. Roman, meanwhile, could only think of exactly what Logan would do to help him.

Just as he was about to leave, Logan stopped.

“Give me your phone.” He commanded, holding out his hand. Roman obeyed without question. “You should really set a password on this.” He tapped around on the screen. Roman waited with nervous anticipation.

“What are you doing?” He asked when he finally began to suspect something. Logan smirked and handed his phone back to him.

“I hope to see you at Janus’s rink tomorrow morning at nine.” Then, he sauntered out of Roman’s apartment, closing the door forcefully behind him. Roman explored his phone, his eyes scanning every pixel of the screen for what might have changed. Eventually, he found a new contact: The Better Skater, it was called. Roman chuckled to himself.

“Still not the _best_ , then?”

The sun began to sink, but still remained high enough for Logan. Running, he headed towards Virgil’s house. Dodging streetlamps and benches and even other people who stubbornly refused to move for him, he eventually made it. He clutched his side to ease the burning sensation and stopped, leaning against a street sign, breathless and damp from sweat. His years of ice skating had given him power and stamina, but nowhere outside of skating had the decency of being cold. The sun blazed down on his skin relentlessly, and there was no relief. He hobbled down the street, stopping to pet a cat on his way to Virgil’s bungalow, all the while trying to steady his breathing so nobody that he passed would suspect he was dying from a ten-minute jog. He wiped his hand across his forehead, and then knocked on Virgil’s door. He waited patiently, facing what little breeze blew by in the following minutes to cool down and reduce whatever redness inevitably plagued his face. Suddenly, the door opened, and Logan smiled.

“Logan?”

“Yes, it’s me, can I come in, please?” He asked while he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Sure,” Virgil stood to the side, “is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything’s fine, I just have _news._ ” Logan sat on the armchair in Virgil’s living room. Virgil followed and occupied the sofa.

“Okay, what is it?”

“I agreed to basically coach Roman and teach him how to land the jumps he can’t do yet to help him beat me in Remus’s competition.” Logan said bluntly. Virgil sat in stunned silence for a few moments, and uncomfortably long time that felt unbearable, during which Logan passed through all five stages of grief.

“ _Why_ would you do that?” Virgil asked when he finally found a voice. “I thought you wanted to win!”

“What was I supposed to do? He fed my ego by saying he would never beat me unless I helped him and then actually credited my skills _and_ we made a bargain that if he wins, he won’t ever compete against me in competition again. I should have thrown in that he wouldn’t go to Janus’s rink anymore and stay at Remus’s, but it’s a bit late for that now.”

“Well, what will you do now?”

“I’ll help him to the best of my ability, I suppose. I don’t see how I can truly lose, nor how he can truly win.”

“What do you mean?”

“If _I_ win the competition, then, obviously, I win and he loses. If _he_ wins the competition, then he can’t skate against me anymore so I’ll have a better shot of winning future ones.” Logan explained smugly. Virgil sighed and buried his face in his hands.

“And if _neither_ of you win?” He asked. Logan’s smug, pretentious smile did not fade: it crashed and burned. What _if_ neither of them won, he thought? He could procure no answer. He didn’t panic. He didn’t get angry. He just felt numb.

“I don’t know.” He said blankly.

“Just make sure that doesn’t happen, okay?” Virgil said. Logan didn’t reply. “And be careful. Don’t push yourself beyond your limits. Make sure you don’t get hurt – and don’t hurt him either.”

“I would never.” Logan interrupted. Virgil’s worried instructions would only upset both of them more. Logan’s eyes drifted above the fireplace and caught glimpses of all the gold medals that rested on its mantelpiece. On each side of the fireplace, there now stood pillars of forms and letters and bank statements and terms and conditions.

“Logan?” He jumped and looked back to see an expression of concern written all over Virgil’s face. “Did you hear me?” Logan shook his head.

“No, I zoned out, I’m sorry.”

“I just asked if you wanted a coffee, is all.”

“Oh,” Logan considered, trying to figure out which would be the less rude answer. In the end, he went with the honest one: “yes please.” Virgil got up and walked steadily to the kitchen, calling for Logan to follow.

“Why do you actually hate Roman so much?” Virgil asked as he brought out two mugs. “I don’t understand why, if there were genuinely a reason, you would agree to help him.”

“Good question.” Logan leant on the counter and reflected.

“Did he ever do or say anything to you? Do you even _have_ a reason to be so hostile to him? It just seems like unnecessary drama to me.”,

“No. He never did anything. Just a few glances and comments.”

“You know what I think it is?” Virgil asked, stirring the coffee.

“Go on.”

“I think it’s envy.” Virgil handed a mug to Logan, who stifled laughter in the name of politeness.

“What makes you think that? Roman _knows_ he can’t skate as well as I can!”

“You are perfect but once you teach him perfection, he will have something else over you.”

“What do you mean?” Logan set his cup down clunkily and stood up straight.

“I want to phrase this delicately…”

“No, say what you mean!” Logan strained to keep his voice down. “I doubt you’ll tell me anything I don’t already know.”

“Roman is expressive and creative and that’s something _you_ never learnt, is it? You can teach him to land all his jumps but he can’t teach you how to be exciting.” Logan subdued, sipped his coffee, and let the steam fog up his glasses.

“I know that.” Was all he could say.

“Logan, you’re classy, debonair, and everyone can see that and if the audience were made of professionals, they’d see how much better you are. The issue is, they can’t tell a loop from an axel, but they _can_ tell the difference between someone way too focussed on technicalities versus someone who genuinely just wants to skate, have fun, and show everyone else what skating can be.”

“So, you’re saying…” He sighed. “Perfection isn’t perfect enough?” Virgil smiled and nodded.

“Yeah, exactly!”

“Sounds fake.”

“Aw, man,” Virgil deflated, “I thought we were getting somewhere.” They sipped their coffee bitterly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed, any feedback is greatly appreciated! :D


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of teaching begins. Despite a rough start involving opposite outlooks on how the day should proceed, and Roman making a huge mistake regarding something important to Logan, it isn't all bad. Despite assuming the role of a teacher, Logan learns something else: he has a lot more learning to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We do be having a warning this time: Roman says the C-slur (the one directed at people with limited mobility). You have been warned so if you do not want to be exposed to that content, skip this chapter. As someone with chronic pain which affects my mobility, I do not want to hear anyone calling me problematic for making a flawed and imperfect character say a slur which I want to reclaim and then have him face direct consequences for his actions. You have been warned. In any case, those that are okay with such content, I hope you enjoy reading! :D

As the rest of the day passed by without notable events, Logan went to sleep. With his eyes closed and breathing coming to a slow, his mind shifted onto Roman, no doubt still awake, and pondered how exactly he would commence teaching. He rolled over and grabbed his pillow and hit it over his own face.

“Ugh, what do I _do_?” He lamented into it as he forced more pressure. He was answered with sounds that didn’t care for him: the last of the birds chirping their good-nights; the creaks of his bed as he shuffled; words hurled by people outside who somehow were already drunk; and cars driving by, sometimes honking their horns needlessly. When he opened his eyes, somehow the room looked darker. He drowned himself in the smell of bedsheets before finally drifting away.

Roman woke up and stretched. The sky was light blue, the sun still low in the sky, and barely a cloud was in sight. He checked the time (it was just past eight), and bounced to his window excitedly, focussing on Logan’s window to detect any sign of movement. Then, seeing none, settled for simply finding a sign of _life_ ; his window had been shut, curtains drawn, and all the lights appeared off. After a few minutes of staring, Roman threw himself backwards, cursing himself.

“You’re acting like a stalker!” He scolded. Considering his options, he decided to leave for the arena as soon as possible (after a breakfast and iced coffee, of course), preferring to potentially be hours early than even later than he already might be. His coffee was cold and bitter, his breakfast soft and sweet – much like Logan and himself, he thought. He left his plate on the counter, put on his shoes, and left, locking the door behind him. Minutes later, he returned to pick up his forgotten skates, and left for the last time.

He rushed down the stairs from a surprisingly quiet reception and looked around an empty arena. It was dark, and the longer Roman stood still, the more he shivered. He checked his phone calendar.

“¡Cabrón!” He cried before throwing his bag to the ground and stomping his foot. His own curse echoed around him, surrounding him. He shook his head violently. He grabbed his bag and made to storm back upstairs and towards home, when Logan came from around the corner.

“Fuck, I _knew_ that would happen!” He exclaimed. “Sorry, I just had to use the bathroom. I knew you’d arrive as soon as I left and think I had neglected to turn up. In any case, I’m glad I could catch you before you left. Now, skate.” Logan pointed a finger towards the rink with a hard stare at Roman.

“Okay but… Can I put my skates on first?” Roman asked sheepishly.

“Nope,” Logan replied, “a real skater doesn’t need them.”

“Oh…” Roman left his bag on the nearest bench and made way for the ice before Logan stopped him.

“Hey, I was just joking. _Obviously_ you can put them on first.”

“It isn’t obvious when you literally tell me otherwise.” Roman muttered under his breath. Logan heard, but didn’t say anything. He merely hoped that Roman wouldn’t notice his clenched fists and bitten lips. The _audacity_ , he thought. Roman tightened his laces and stood straight.

“What jumps can you land?” Asked Logan. Roman blushed.

“Not many…” He murmured.

“That’s a lie!” Janus interrupted from the café between bites of his breakfast. “You just can’t always land them in competition!” He promptly resumed eating as if nothing happened. Roman didn’t say anything, just waited for Logan to break the silence with anything – literally anything – and shatter the tension.

“Performance anxiety?” He asked. Roman nodded his head nervously. “We can work on that.”

“I don’t need you to help me with _that_ ,” Roman protested. Logan silenced him.

“Listen: you know what you need, and I know how to help you get there, got it? I’m not an instructional video; the moment you asked me to coach you, you asked for everything necessary to get you there. If diminishing performance anxiety is how we get there, then that’s what we’re working on. Now, show me what you can do.” Logan demanded. Roman softly pinched the skin on his hands, but he did make his way to the rink. He glided to the centre, where he stood still, waiting. He watched Logan stare at him, and Janus completely ignore him. Logan opened his mouth to say something. Unable to bear whatever words he would berate him with, Roman jumped a double toe loop. He wobbled as he landed, but it was definitely a double.

“Was that good?” He asked. He rubbed his leg, wishing he’d stretched more. Logan said nothing, but he did come to join Roman on the rink.

“Do that again.” He demanded. Roman obeyed.

“Is something wrong?”

“That’s what you did for your routine the other day, isn’t it? You started with a jump without momentum.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Quite the contrary!” Logan exclaimed with a wide smile which Roman couldn’t help but copy. “I think if you open your routines with that when you’re being judged by people who actually know their shit, that’d really put the odds in your favour.”

“So it’s a _good_ thing?” Roman asked with wide eyes. Logan nodded.

“But I wouldn’t suggest doing anything harder than a single salchow. Jumps really rely on momentum so you can hurt yourself badly if you do something too hard without it.”

“Oh,” Roman thought for a second, “is that what crippled Virgil?” Suddenly, he was on the ice. One cheek cold and the other burning hot. Before he could process even that, he was being dragged by the neck of his shirt and forced onto the ice with such unbearable pressure, he thought the ice would shatter beneath him. The next second, he came face to face with Logan, cheeks red from something worse than the cold, his arms shaking as he gripped him.

“Don’t you _ever_ say that about him _ever_ again.” He growled harshly. For a moment, Roman’s eyes passed over the blades on Logan’s skates, uncomfortably close to his neck, and his heart palpitated. He tried to scramble away fruitlessly; Logan threw him back onto the ice with all the strength his trembling arms would give.

“I’m so sorry.” Roman tried to get back up, constant apologies with a surprising lack of excuses, but his quivering legs failed him. He stayed sat down and buried his face in his arms.

“What you said is a slur. If I ever hear you say it again, I swear on my own life you will never speak again.” Logan spat. He skated away, kicking up loose bits of ice and digging deep grooves to calm down. When he heard quiet sobs coming from the centre of the rink, he had neither pity nor regret to spare.

“I’m sorry.” Roman spluttered. “I know ignorance isn’t an excuse. I’m sorry.” Logan waited for him to stop shaking before speaking. When that didn’t happen, he skated off the rink to get some tissues and, with any luck, give Roman more time to calm down, only to find him still in a quivering ball upon his return.

“I brought you some tissues…” Logan said awkwardly. Roman took them and, within a minute stood back up with trembling knees and a flushed face. He kept his gaze towards the ground, the walls, even the ceiling – wherever Logan wasn’t, Roman looked.

“I’m sorry…” He sniffled again.

“I don’t care how sorry you are. Don’t say it again.” Logan spoke with much less of a growl, but his tone was still hard and unforgiving. Yet, he continued teaching as if nothing had happened. “Tell me, what other jumps can you generally land?”

“I can sometimes do a salchow, and sometimes a flip.”

“To what extent?”

“Nothing more than a double.” Roman bowed his head. Logan took out his phone and started typing.

“You can’t even do a triple for the toe loop?” He asked. When Roman shook his head, he laughed coldly.

“I can sometimes, but I usually trip in competition.”

“Go for a quad now.”

“Hm?”

“You heard me. It’s just me watching you. I bet you could do it if you _really_ tried.” Roman crossed his arms and turned his whole body so inwards he almost became inside out. When Logan didn’t give in, he sighed and wiped his face. Skating around the walls, he took a deep breath, held up his arms, and launched. He landed on the ice, only sparing his nose from breaking by crashing onto the palms of his hands, and the room spun. He stood up, holding a hand to his temple. When he could finally focus, he was surprised to hear the slow, almost sarcastic clapping from the centre of the rink. When he saw Logan smiling, he giggled.

“Was that okay?” He asked, skating to meet with Logan.

“You certainly had enough rotations!” He exclaimed with something that would be pride towards anyone else.

“But?”

“Well, the ‘but’ is obvious. You fell.”

“Astute.” Roman replied. “How do I _not_ do that?”

“Don’t hold your arms _up_ like this.” Logan demonstrated. “It’s impressive for sure, but at the cost of making the jump far more difficult than it has to be. See!” Logan showed Roman two jumps, without the added elements of raised arms, the with, subtly making himself stumble more on the latter.

“Okay, got it!” Roman said, his smile and eyes hardened with optimistic determination. Logan stifled his admiration.

“Just remember as a general rule: work your way up to perfection. If you strive for it straight away, you’ll miss it.” Logan advised before skating off the rink and into the café under the notion he was giving Roman ‘more space to practise that quad’.

Logan took his skates off and left them by a bench before approaching Janus.

“You should be heeding your own advice.” He said slyly between sips of coffee. He had six disposable cups surrounding him.

“Don’t start this again. He’s doing well.” Logan took the coffee out of Janus’s hands and swallowed the last gulp in one.

“Maybe you’d be as good as him if you stopped caring about being perfect.”

“I’m not listening to you.”

“As usual.” Janus wailed dramatically, leaning back into his chair.

“He’s skating way better than he ever has in practice.” Logan commented.

“I guess you slapped some of your skill into him.”

“Hey, don’t even joke. I didn’t expect to hurt him that much, I guess I’m stronger than I thought.”

“Not a matter of strength,” Janus muttered as he stood up to make another coffee, “I think you’re just mean.” Logan glared at him from his seat. Janus continued in his nonchalant manner.

“Didn’t you hear what he said about Virgil? Nothing I would have done would have been disproportionate to that. Roman said it himself: ignorance is not an excuse!”

“And violence isn’t an answer.” Janus argued. “If you don’t think a simple ‘hey, that’s a slur, don’t say it because it’s offensive’ would have sufficed then I don’t know what to tell you. For someone so elite in your niches, in every other area you’re a god damn disgrace.” Logan resigned. He pushed his glasses up his nose and stared at the table with a clenched jaw, blinking hard. Then, a perky voice distracted him. He looked to the ice.

“Hey, Logan, watch this!” Roman yelled. He clapped his hands together in excitement, before spiralling around the centre of the rink before leaping into a triple salchow with only a small wobble as he landed – which Logan put down to the excitement of having put in enough rotations – but he remained on his feet. Logan smiled, and thanked himself for coming so far away that his joy wasn’t too visible. Instead, he stood up and applauded.

“Congratulations!” He shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. His words of praise echoed around the arena, over and over again. Roman absorbed every iteration with pride. To top it all off, he smirked at Logan, and bowed. Logan turned back to Janus, blushing lightly, but mostly just smiling.

“You need to actually be a teacher to him. Stop being a proud little bitch and get back on the ice. He _needs_ you.”

“I know he does.” Logan grimaced, slamming his empty cup onto the table and storming away from the table.

“And you need him, too.” Muttered Janus just out of earshot. He watched Logan return to the ice, cold in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, any feedback is greatly appreciated! :D


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan's training continues. Although it couldn't have gone anywhere else given the shaky start, the session perks up, Roman's progress picks up speed, and his confidence boosts. When Roman leaves, Janus has some harsh words to say, but could they be what Logan needs to hear? The recipe for how to mix imperfections into something perfect?

By the time Logan reached Roman, he was panting and clutching his side, but the smile on his face was bright and would be contagious for anyone but Logan. He kept his face straight and stern but nothing dampened Roman’s brightness.

“Everything is so much easier when it isn’t perfect!” He exclaimed. “I mean, I should have figured that out by now, it isn’t like anything I’ve done has been anywhere close to perfect, but it’s so much more freeing when I’m not even trying!” He clapped his hands and bounced on his toes (as far as his skates would permit), before going for some sort of axel – commonly regarded as the hardest jump. Whether it was a double or triple didn’t matter; Logan only saw failure as Roman picked himself up again.

“I admire how you always get up no matter how much you fail at _staying_ up.” Logan snarled. He even took himself by surprise.

“What does that mean?” Roman asked, looking up with bright, wide eyes tainted by something sad Logan couldn’t explain.

“I mean,” he cleared his throat, “your determination is admirable. A key virtue a skater need, I mean.”

“It’s okay,” Roman teased, “you can admit I’m good at something. I won’t hold it against you.”

“Oh, don’t be so arrogant.” Logan folded his arms across his chest. As hard as he tried to showcase his annoyance, Roman laughed.

“ _Oh, don’t be so arrogant_.” Roman mocked, mimicking the way Logan crossed his arms.

“I want to give you a word of advice.” Logan coughed as he hastily changed the subject.

“Okay?”

“A quadruple axel is more difficult than you think, do not even attempt it. It isn’t like other quads; it has an extra half rotation. I wouldn’t even try a triple. Stick with a single or double if you think you can make it, but nothing more.”

“Oh, thank you! That’s very helpful, actually…”

“I don’t know what you expected from me.”

“You don’t want to.” Roman snickered. He stopped after a single glare.

“Do you only want me to teach jumps?” Asked Logan, pulling out his phone and preparing to type once again. Roman stopped and considered for a moment.

“I only intended to learn the jumps from you,” he replied, “but anything you’d be willing to teach me, I want to learn!” He smiled. Logan typed blank-faced.

“Spread eagle? Hydro pump? I hope you’re not flexible enough to expect the Biellmann spin because I’m definitely not flexible enough to teach it.”

“Uh, I don’t know what those are.” Roman muttered sheepishly. Logan stopped and stared at him in disbelief.”

“How do you know all the names of the jumps, but not the names of anything else?”

“Well…”

“What kind of stuff did your past teachers tell you?”

“Logan, I’m not –”

“I hope they didn’t charge much.”

“¡Escucha!” Logan stopped. He opened his mouth to taunt him. _You go to Spanish when you’re angry,_ he thought. He couldn’t tell how, but he knew it’d be upsetting to point it out. It wasn’t funny, and not worth making fun of. Instead, he did what Roman asked: he listened.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“I’m pretty much entirely self-taught. My brother helped, but I never had a proper coach.” Roman explained fiercely. “I know I’m clumsy and I’ll probably never be as good as you or any other _real_ skater, but I worked so much harder and wanted it so much more than them.”

“You are a real skater,” Logan interjected before Roman upset himself too much (he was already sniffling), “and that’s why you’re here. I wouldn’t… I would not waste my time on you if I didn’t think you were worth it. I would not waste my efforts if I didn’t think you at least had a chance. Now stand up straight and stop slouching. Show me a freestyle combo jump.” Logan watched Roman’s face light up as he glided across the ice and flew into a double axel, double lutz jump. Impressive, he thought. Suddenly, he felt a vibration in his pocket. Checking his texts, he saw a new one from Janus.

 _So close to sincerity._ Logan looked to the café, but Janus was gone. He didn’t need to imagine too hard: he knew that he was smirking his serpentine smirk. He watched Roman progress, taking a backseat from ‘teacher’ and almost becoming just his supervisor. As his confidence grew, his ability to land did, too. His confidence would reach new peaks for every successful jump he landed, creating an upward spiral of progress, smiles, and applause.

“You’re improving so much!” Logan said from the wall of the rink. Each compliment was designed to balance approval and humbleness. Roman didn’t need to be anymore arrogant, he thought. He questioned.

Endless hours passed, both exhausted, hungry, and in pain, before they decided that they’d done enough. By the time their skates were off and they were walked up the stairs and outside together, they’d forgotten their history.

“If you continue at this rate,” Logan huffed, “you stand a pretty promising chance.”

“This is going to be so great! When I win, we never have to skate against each other again!” Roman exclaimed excitedly and optimistically. He hopped up the stairs two at a time, meaning he couldn’t see Logan frown.

“I need to ask you something before we depart.” He grabbed Roman by the shoulder before he bounded out the door, but he let go the moment he noticed him squirming.

“What’s up?”

“Why did you –” Logan stopped himself. _Why did you decide to hate me? Why did you ask me to help you? Why did you act so horrible only to change everything in just a few days?_ Logan wanted answers. Instead, he reorganised and recomposed himself. “I mean, _how_? How did you come so far and do so well when you’re only self-taught?” He tried not to let his blush show too much, or hoped that Roman simply wouldn’t notice, or at least give him the mercy of keeping quiet about it. Nothing of the sort happened.

“You’ve gone _bright red_!” Roman laughed. “I had no idea you’d be asking something so _personal_!” Logan tried to keep himself calm, his face stern, but his frustrations only added to his vulnerability.

“I just didn’t know if it’s something you’re happy talking about.” Logan said emptily.

“You have to understand that I _love_ talking about myself, it’s just that I don’t really know how to answer. I don’t know what it’s like to do what I did any other way, so how did I do it? Same as you: I worked hard and wanted it.” Roman smiled, leant forward slightly, but hesitated. Hastily and somewhat clumsily, he turned back to the exit and ran through the doors. Logan sighed.

“Thanks for opening up the rink for us today.” Logan said monotonously. Janus stepped out from behind the corner of the reception desk.

“How did you know I was there?” He asked with a whine. Logan grinned.

“You’re not sly.”

“Rude.”

“Like you’re not?”

“I’m not.” Janus stepped into Logan’s eyeline. “I’m just _honest_. You seemed to get along with him as time went on.” He gestured towards the exit.

“ _He_ seemed to get along with _me_ better. I was never at fault.”

“Grow up. It’s not like you could have exactly been on worse ground – after you slapped him into the ice you really had nowhere to go but up. It takes two people to sink that low.”

“I guess.”

“You can guess,” Janus scoffed, “but I _know_.”

“Hey, who do you think is going to win Remus’s competition next month?” Logan asked. Janus’s answer, he believed, could only be a praise to his skills as a skater or his skills as a teacher.

“If you don’t get your act together, neither of you.” Janus said far too casually. Logan’s jaw dropped open, his eyes filled up, and his fists clenched. His nails dug so far into the palm of his hands he might have felt them bleed had he been focussing on physical pain.

“You think someone else is going to win? Some stranger? Just a random _nobody_?”

“No,” Janus said, slipping back down the stairs leading to the rink, “but if you don’t really pull yourself together, it doesn’t matter what happens: there will not be a winner so long as you hold onto the stubbornness and pride in your heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading, I hope you enjoyed, any feedback is greatly appreciated! :D


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the next coaching session, Roman and Logan spend some time with their friends to review how everything that happened from the good and the bad. Then, when Janus breaks some game-changing news, the two have something new to consider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I got too sad to write so didn't post lmfao but anyway I hope you enjoy this slower-than-intended slow-burn! :D

Roman bounded out the door and down the steps outside, breathing in the fresh air, feeling the breeze against his skin, and taking in a darkening sky after so many hours of glaring white lights. Every muscle in his feet and legs ached, but he ran and jumped as if he never left the ice. He stopped and looked around, focusing on the faces of the few people walking by, until he finally landed on the buttoned-up man across the street who, seeing Roman stare at him, smiled and waved. Roman went to see his friend, running as fast as he could.

“Roman, _stop_!” Patton yelled, throwing up both hands in a halting stance. Roman froze. Two cars, a motorbike, and a bus sped by, their fumes poisoning the priorly fresh smell in the air. Roman looked both ways and waited for the road to be empty, before running and jumping into Patton’s arms.

“How was your day?” Patton asked with a squeeze. Roman laughed as he pulled himself away.

“It was really eventful but I think I made a lot of progress!” Roman linked his arm in Patton’s as they walked back to Roman’s apartment.

“I’m glad to hear it! You seem really happy, too.”

“I am! Logan’s a much better teacher than he is a person, but even so…” Roman paused to consider. His mind only drew blanks.

“You only hate what you thought he _was_.” Patton said.

“What do you mean by that, exactly?”

“Well, you had this picture of what he is in your head: arrogant, cold, annoying, and careless. Maybe you still think of him like that, but you’ve also seen other sides of him. Maybe some kind of compassion? Patience? Understanding? Whatever it is, I think you respect him as more than just a skater now.” Roman rubbed his cheek as Patton spoke. It didn’t hurt anymore – at least not to the touch.

“He’s very passionate about defending his friends.” He thought back to the day before when he ate with Logan, and looked at Patton, how comfortable he seemed linking arms with him. “And he’s willing to be educated on matters he doesn’t know about to do so.”

“Oh, that’s always good!” Patton said perkily. “What makes you say that?”

“He hit me.” Patton stopped, unlinked his arm, and grabbed Roman by his shoulders.

“He should not have done that, no matter what you say.”

“I said something about his friend, something I shouldn’t have. I didn’t realise it was a slur.” Roman’s voice shook. He bit his tongue and tried to keep himself from crying.

“Roman,” Patton sighed, loosened his grip, and cupped Roman’s face with one hand. Roman leant into it. “I hope you know that I will always support you, but I can’t defend you here.”

“I know. If someone said anything about you, I’d probably do something far worse. I just feel bad.” Roman sniffled. “I feel _so_ bad.”

“Learn from it, okay?” Patton smiled, rubbing Roman’s cheek with his thumb. Roman nodded gently. “I know you will. Let’s go.” They walked down the street together, rushing themselves along as the sun set further and further, all the time talking and smiling.

Logan left Janus’s arena and walked home by himself. Seeing Roman and Patton walking together, he stopped for several minutes, waiting for them to get ahead. He wrapped himself in his own arms as a shield against a bitter wind to no avail: he shivered and shook and lamented that he hadn’t brought a coat. The two turned a corner. Only when he couldn’t even hear their cheerful and loud laughs did he proceed. He pulled out his phone and made to call Virgil while he walked home, before remembering he needed to text. He started typing, barely even having to look up to know where he was going.

_I just got done and I’m walking home now. I’m starting again tomorrow, but later, after Janus closes for the public. I can come over tomorrow during the day, if you’d like?_

_Nah it’s fine dw_ Was Virgil’s hasty response. As Logan typed out a retort, another message came through: _unless you want to?_ Logan smiled.

_I’d really love to! I’ll be there at noon._

_:D_ Logan smiled, put his phone back in his pocket, and walked the rest of the way home alone with nothing but a plan for tomorrow.

Roman fiddled with the key in the lock, rattling his door handle, more and more desperately as his door stood firmly shut. He kept pushing, trying to force the lock to give. When it suddenly did unlock and the door swing open, Roman stumbled through, only being saved from a complete fall by being caught by Patton.

“You know what they say!” Roman ran his fingers through his hair to play off coolly. “You’re only good at things until someone watches!”

“I’ve never heard anyone say that, but I guess it applies to opening a door, too?” Patton giggled, immediately standing by the fish tank and peering through the glass.

“Evidently!” Roman smiled. He made his way to the kitchen while Patton remained mesmerised by the fish, and filled a teapot. As he did so, he overheard Patton humming melodiously as if it came as naturally to him as breathing. Roman waited for a few moments before intruding, taking in whatever tune came out of him, before rattling the pots that would make him clam up. Patton accepted the tea gratefully.

“You know me so well,” he said between sips, “thank you.” Roman smiled.

“What’s happening with the church next?” He asked, thinking of the weeks’ worth of meals he had freezing.

“I don’t know man, I don’t go every day!” Patton laughed. Roman bit his tongue to hold back an apology.

“What are you doing other than that, then?” Roman asked. Patton stopped, settled his tea on his thigh, and rested his head in his own hands.

“You know how things are. Just trying to make ends meet.” Roman stopped and looked at him. Patton’s eyes stayed low.

“It’s not drugs, is it?”

“Oh _fuck_ no.” Patton gasped. “I wouldn’t even know how to begin with all that. Nah, it’s just all the bills coming at once. I don’t want to have to move or rehome the babies, but you know. It is what it is.”

“You know I’m always here for you. There’s always a home for you here.”

“It’ll be okay, I’m sure of it.”

“If you sold your food, gave cooking lessons, singing lessons, anything like that, you’d be set. People would really pay for that kind of stuff.” Roman suggested. Patton’s eyes widened. Roman prepared for his same rhetoric.

“That isn’t fair!” Patton protested. “If I charged money for any of those things, then they’re not accessible to everyone!”

“You don’t just exist for other people. It’s okay to do things for yourself.” Roman said bluntly. “Besides, it’s not like you can do any cooking and feeding if you don’t have a kitchen of your own.” Patton blinked heavily and squirmed in his seat.

“I guess that’s really what’s at stake.”

“You’re not selfish for doing your best to get by.”

“I’ll think about it?” Patton stood up and checked his pockets. “But I should really be heading home now. The babies will be getting hungry.”

“Do you want me to walk with you?” Roman offered, standing up with him.

“It’s okay! I appreciate the offer, but it’ll be fine.” The two exchanged words of goodbye, and when the door finally clicked shut, Roman raced to his window. After a few minutes, he saw Patton leave the building, and walk down the street under the protection of the streetlamps. Despite the night settling in, as far as Roman could see, Patton was indeed safe. Such a scene brought a comfort to his soul.

Logan woke up in time with the sunrise – ‘woke up’ being used in a loose sense. Rather, his eyes simply opened at the first sign of daybreak. He checked his phone grumpily and frowned at the number that burned into his eyes. He threw his phone on the floor, turned back to his bed, and tossed a pillow over his head. With heavy, tired eyes, he fell back into a deep sleep.

When Logan actually woke up, his room was light and cool. Seeing a much more appropriate time, he got up and started his day. He perked up even more at just the smell of his coffee, and with every bitter drop, he felt the glumness of early mornings disappear behind him. He eyed the plants hanging from the wall. They were dry and crispy to the touch, as if they’d become dust if he pinched too hard. They felt better just minutes after watering them. He examined his wild strawberries. A burst of sour sweetness exploded on his tongue. He beamed with the same delight as a young child with a pack of sweets.

Clouds hung low in the sky, masking the sun behind them. Logan stood outside Virgil’s house, waiting for the clock to change to twelve. He held his hand out prepared to knock and, when eventually the minute changed, he did so. Before he could finish, Virgil had already opened the door and invited him in.

“How was your first day playing coach?” He asked as Logan resumed his usual position on one of Virgil’s chairs.

“Not so bad that I’m dreading the second day.” Logan said. He pursed his lips while he thought of how exactly to elaborate. Finding that he couldn’t, he simply let silence settle.

“Any kind of emotional bonding?” Virgil probed, spinning his hands to ask him to talk more.

“It was rough at first.”

“But…?”

“Hear me out on this. You might find this shocking, you might not believe me, but as time went on, I almost found myself liking him.” Logan said cautiously. He noticed Virgil stifle a smile.

“That’s usually what happens when you actually get to know people instead of just accepting that you hate them on no real grounds.”

“There _were_ grounds!” Logan cried. Seeing how Virgil winced, he settled back down. “I just don’t stand by them anymore.”

“Do you think he thinks the same about you?” Virgil asked before gulping water out of a two-litre bottle. His legs wouldn’t stop trembling.

“It’s hard to tell. He always finds something to tease, he’s irreverent, and sometimes annoying, but when he isn’t acting up trying to be irritating, he seems kind and passionate and determined.”

“So do you think he has a chance?” Logan paused to consider.

“Truthfully, I think he does.” He sighed reluctantly. “You know, I’m his first proper teacher.”

“No way!” Virgil gasped. “He’s almost as good as you but never even had anyone teaching him!”

“Hey, emphasis on the _almost_!” Logan smiled, and seeing Virgil happy made it impossible to stop.

Janus sighed, having spent the last hour ushering people out of the rink and through the doors like a dog herding sheep, barking at those who stubbornly refused to leave. When everyone had finally left, he sunk down from reception towards the rink, and went to make a coffee. He had barely been able to enjoy a minute of time to himself when Roman jumped down the entire flight of stairs and almost kicked the doors of their hinges in his energetic race to arrive before Logan.

“Is he here yet?!” He bellowed as soon as he clocked Janus’s presence.

“No, you’re literally half an hour early.” Janus said breathily. “Calm down before he arrives or he won’t be happy to teach you.”

“Can I practise until then?” Roman pointed at the ice. Janus shook his head.

“It needs to be smoothed out first. I’ll do that once I’ve finished this cup. You can put your skates on, though.” Janus sipped his coffee loudly. As if nothing could bother him, Roman simply beamed and hopped to the nearest bench.

Skating on fresh ice was like walking in fresh snow. Roman wobbled on his first few steps, but glided around the rink like a bird in the sky when he got his balance. With such quiet, it was hard to find how to jump; with music, he found beats and rhythms, but no such thing existed with ambience. When Logan finally came through the doors, Roman gasped in delight and sped to the wall nearest him, leaning over it as far as he could.

“Logan! Hello!” He yelled with a smile and wave. His joy was infectious, and before Logan could control himself, he was smiling and waving with the same joy – and same sincerity.

“How long have you been practising?” He asked in a vain attempt to keep himself professional.

“So many minutes!”

“Keep doing that while I get the skates on…” Roman nodded eagerly, skated for some momentum, and leapt into a triple salchow. He looked back. Logan was focused on his laces, and Janus on his coffee. Not dissuaded, he continued to fly through the air. When he landed perfectly and with ease, he applauded himself. When he fell, he picked himself up before anyone saw. Within just a minute, he guessed that he’d jumped almost ten times.

“Do you have a plan for today?” Roman asked the moment one of Logan’s blades touched the ice.

“Whatever it was,” Logan started, gazing at Roman with confusion, “I think you’ve already speed-run the entire thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“You look exhausted. You’re red in the face, out of breath, and pretty sweaty.”

“Isn’t that how you like your men?” Roman winked. Logan stared at him for a second.

“They usually last a bit longer than you.” He said monotonously. Roman blushed heavily, somehow getting even redder. “Anyway, I wanted to focus on a couple of spins today.”

“Okay.” Roman squeaked. Logan raised an eyebrow but said nothing on the matter.

“So, the spins: I have no doubt you can do most of them but whether you know their names is dubious –”

“Ah yes,” Roman interrupted, “I definitely know what that word means.”

“Dubious means uncertain. So,” Logan took a few steps back, “show me all the different ways you know how to spin, and I’ll label them for you.” He smiled. Roman stood still, as frozen as the ice beneath him.

Roman went through three spins: scratch, upright, and sitting. When he stood straight after the third, he wobbled and stumbled backwards. Before he hit the ice, he felt himself suspended in the air.

“Careful!” Logan exclaimed, pulling Roman back up to his feet. He tried to find Roman’s eyes, but they were looking everywhere but at Logan.

“I’m so sorry!” Roman said, dusting himself off. “I just got dizzy from all the spinning!”

“It happens to the _best_ of us, too.” Logan smirked, gesturing at himself. Suddenly, a voice piped up from the café.

“Remus just texted me.” Janus said. Despite a normal volume, his words boomed around the arena. The two skated off the ice and, skates still on, went to see. Roman took out his own phone, and saw a text of his own.

“What is it?” Asked Logan, facing a blank screen.

“Remus had to move the competition to next week. That’s a lot less time for you two to practise.”

“What? Why?” Logan bit his tongue and clenched his fists. Any blush that Roman had had disappeared.

“I’ll ask. I just thought you two should know.” Janus typed rapidly, his thumbs dancing over the screen, but Logan and Roman stood still. While Roman could only hope that one week was enough time, Logan only had one thought: how desperately did he want to win?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, any feedback is greatly appreciated! :D


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if moving the competition date wasn't enough stress, Remus also reveals something that only makes Logan more determined to win -- either as himself or vicariously through Roman -- in ways that nothing else could.

Roman and Logan both made their way back to the ice in silence, neither wanting to be the first to make a sound, neither wanting the other to speak first. They glided straight back onto the ice and spiralled around the centre. Through deep breaths, Roman spoke.

“If you want to stop teaching me so that you have more time to practise by yourself,” he muttered, “I would totally get it.” Logan felt his heart aching and his fingers twitching. He pursed his lips as he thought.

“I don’t want to – I mean, I don’t _need_ to do that.” He instinctively went to push his glasses up his nose but, remembering where he was, he played it off as if he meant to push his hair back. Roman’s eyes lit up.

“So you’ll stay with me?” He asked, clapping his fingertips together as he beamed.

“If you want.” Logan replied with too much of a smile for his liking. “I think you need it.”

“But one day I won’t,” Roman squinted as he smirked, “and next week will tell us when.” Logan cocked his head and folded his arms, but his expression softened.

“I admire your confidence.” Was all he said. He ran his fingers through his hair before resuming his didactic teaching.

Janus watched the two skaters from the café. His heart palpitated rapidly and his stomach squirmed as he noticed all the disposable cups strewn across his table. He smiled as he watched Roman jump from one spin straight into another, hopping around the rink as if fatigue were a foreign concept. Even Logan had to step back and take a breather. He pulled out his phone.

“Did I wake you up?” He asked at the sound of an answer.

“Yeah, but don’t worry about it.” Remus replied. Janus could almost hear him smiling. “What’s up?”

“I think it would be a good idea if you came to me. Everything is fine, before you worry. I believe Roman’s progress is something you’d be proud of.” He heard Remus gasp.

“Is he there now?”

“Yep, it’s going great.”

“I’ll be over in ten minutes.”

“No you won’t.” Janus smirked.

“No, I won’t.” Remus laughed. “Make it thirty.” The call ended, and Janus resumed his gaze to the skaters. Their interactions had the same routine: snarky remark, bitter retort, silence, resume teaching. He observed them like a scientist, and every iteration of their interactions fed his frustrations more and more.

Roman rubbed his eyes and yawned. His eyelids felt heavy but his heart was light and determined to fly. Despite the aches and shaking in his legs, he stood tall and faced Logan fearlessly.

“We can take a break for a short while, if you want.” Logan suggested. “Resting is just as important as working.”

“I want to keep going.” Roman replied.

“Too bad, I’m getting you a coffee.”

“Coffee doesn’t even _work_.” Roman whined. Still, he followed Logan to the café.

“How can coffee _not_ work?”

“It’s the ADHD.” He laughed to himself. Logan said nothing. Everything that came to his mind seemed too ignorant. He changed the topic hastily.

“How do you feel about your progress so far?” He asked. Roman smiled.

“You know, it’s almost as if having someone to help me out is actually beneficial.”

“Don’t think I’m anything special,” Logan sighed, ignoring Janus’s silent glare as he made two cups of coffee, “your standards are just non-existent. You don’t know what a good teacher is.”

“You know I did go to school, right? I do know what a good teacher is.” Logan looked at him expectedly. “So I know _for sure_ that you’re not a good teacher.”

“You two are _insufferable_.” Janus snarled, sitting back to rest his legs on the table. Although Logan had grown accustomed to such remarks, Roman frowned.

“I’m sorry, that was actually pretty mean. I think you’re a great teacher.” He said tangling his fingers together. Logan tried to stop himself from smiling and handed him a cup.

“Thanks.” He said blankly. Suddenly, they heard a racket from the door between the rink and the reception. All three perked up to see a strange man jiggling the door handle and hitting the window of the door. Janus leapt over the table and ran to Remus’s aid, being more dynamic than Logan had ever seen. He unlocked the door and Remus immediately ran to Roman. After a quick kiss on the cheek, he spoke.

“I’m sorry to have moved the competition date so soon so suddenly,” he said, exasperated, “but the original date clashed with some other event, but that doesn’t matter. Janus told me you’ve made a lot of progress, how are you feeling about that? The most important progress is realising your growth.” Remus spoke quickly, each word combined with the next with barely any room for a breath.

“It’s going really well,” Roman replied gently and slowly, “Logan thinks I have a chance.” He looked over Remus’s shoulder and at Logan, who stood stiff and awkward. Remus looked him up and down, then gasped.

“Logan Paz, right?” He asked with wide eyes. Logan nodded. “Your sister is Valentina, right?”

“Why do you ask?” Logan took a sip of coffee to mask his suspicion. It burned the back of his throat.

“Because she’s competing as well.” Both Janus and Roman gasped, Logan scoffed and choked on his coffee, and Remus just giggled. “You didn’t know?”

“Of course I didn’t know!” Logan spluttered. “I barely speak to her, I didn’t even know she lived nearby, can she still skate as well as she used to?”

“I don’t know what she used to skate like, but from what I’ve seen, she’s probably a contender for gold.” Remus said, helping himself to a coffee. Janus smirked and folded his arms. Logan pursed his lips.

“Wait until you see Roman, then I’ll show you a contender for gold.” He grabbed Roman by the hand and dragged him to the ice, incessantly glancing over his shoulder to make sure Remus was watching. Roman stumbled alongside Logan, who only released his hand when on the ice.

“Do you really think Valentina could beat them?” Janus asked in a subdued voice.

“I _did_ , but Roman hates losing, and Logan will be motivated to beat his sister, even if not to win the whole thing. I’m not so sure anymore.” Every time Remus went to sit besides Janus, he went back to the coffee machine. Only after the sixth time checking it, Janus spoke up.

“You definitely turned it off, nothing will happen, it’s okay.”

“Okay, but here me out!” Remus protested, “What if it isn’t?”

“It is. Now come, watch your brother.”

“So you’re saying I’m a contender for gold?” Roman teased.

“I am, now prove that you are to Remus!” Demanded Logan, before immediately barking out instructions, which Roman obeyed without any complaint, just near-perfection. He still struggled with triples and quads, and the spins were wobbly and he unstable, but he did them all. Logan looked back to the café to see two unimpressed faces staring back at him.

“Boring!” Remus shouted. Roman’s jaw dropped and Logan gasped.

“The audacity!” He scoffed. But he considered: Roman had improved greatly on the technical elements, that was certain, but the rink was silent. Isolated elements strung together only by words of instruction weren’t as exciting as Roman’s real skating. Maybe, Logan considered, they were appropriate for how he skated, but Roman was too different. Logan looked at him, expecting some kind of crestfallen expression. Instead, Roman was grinning. He pulled out his phone and within seconds, instruments that Logan could somewhat recognise but barely name blasted all throughout the arena, each echo adding a new layer to the music. Roman locked eyes with Remus, Logan skid to the side, and all three watched him. On the spot, he choreographed his own routine.

“How did he connect to the speakers?” He heard Remus ask Janus. Through the flashes he saw between his spin, he saw Janus shrug, and saw the progression of Logan’s face as he stopped hiding his smile and pride. He jumped onto his other foot and spun in the opposite direction as if momentum were infinite. He swirled and jumped around the ice in time with the music. His mind kept thinking what to do next, always one step ahead of his feet. As the music stopped, he posed dramatically. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to catch his breath, beads of sweat dripped from his forehead, but the adrenaline and expressions of surprise (and one of pride) around him made it all worth it. He relaxed and looked to Logan.

“Was that good?” He asked breathlessly.

“It was very good!” Logan exclaimed with a shameless, unhesitant glee. Roman clapped his hands and tried to bounce on his toes until he almost lost balance and toppled over. As he saved himself, he glanced back to Janus and Remus, both looking impressed and shocked.

“Who’s the contender for gold now?” He shouted, playfully flipping off the two of them. Logan leant back against the wall, still beaming, and giggled. Roman faced him with more elation than ever before. “Was it, like, _really_ good?” He asked, skating towards him giddily.

“Yes, Roman, it was _amazing_!” He said, taking off from the wall to meet him half way. “I’m so proud of you!”

“You _are_?”

“Of course I am! That was the best routine I’ve ever seen, and you deserve to be proud of yourself, too!” Within a second, Logan was falling backwards towards the ice, a weight forcing him down. Roman squeezed him before pushing himself back up, red in the face, and offering Logan his hand. He took it and pulled himself up and stood by Roman’s side. He dusted ice shavings off his jeans and directed his gaze anywhere but towards Roman.

“That was _gay_!” Janus shouted, which only made the two blush more.

“I’m sorry, that was weird.” Roman spluttered, hiding his face away. “I was just happy and couldn’t control myself.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Logan comforted, “you didn’t get hurt, did you?” Roman shook his head with a slight, nervous smile.

“It’s just been so long since someone told me that.” He muttered shyly.

“You deserve to hear it more often.” Logan said. Roman looked at him with rosy cheeks and continued skating as if nothing had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed, any feedback is greatly appreciated! :D


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange request from Remus leads to Roman staying the night in Logan's apartment, where he finds out more and more about his new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can fit SO MUCH projection in it! I hope you enjoy!! :D

When Logan was the only one left not struggling to stay awake, he finally decided that enough was enough.

“About time,” Janus muttered, “I have to open up again in a few hours, I might as well stay here.”

“I’m sure you have enough coffee to get by.” Logan retorted, his hands shaky as he tied the laces of his shoes back up. He looked up to see Janus with dark and heavy eye bags, Roman almost falling asleep on the bench, and Remus standing by the door jitterily. “I’m sorry for keeping you all up so late.”

“It’s okay,” Roman yawned, his eyes barely able to stay open, “just… Can we take a break for tomorrow – today? What time is it?”

“It’s four in the morning.” Janus answered bitterly before Logan could even open his mouth.

“Oh no…” He whined. “Logan, please can we take a break for the rest of the day?” He rubbed his eyes incessantly. Besides Logan, Remus was the only one who seemed awake at all; though he yawned and his eyelids sometimes fell, he kept his place by the door firmly, always ready to open the door and leave at any sign of movement.

“Of course. Resting is part of working, too.” Logan stood up. The laces on one of Roman’s shoes were barely tied, but he stood up ready to leave anyway.

“Wait,” Remus pulled Logan out the door with him and gestured for Roman to keep away.

“What are you doing?” Logan slapped his hand away.

“I’m asking you to look after Roman. Just until he gets to sleep safely. Please?” Remus’s face was towards the floor, his hands in his pockets, and he kept kicking at the floor. Logan looked through the door: Roman was barely awake – if left for a minute by himself he would certainly pass out.

“Okay, I’ll make sure he gets home safely.”

“Thank you.” Remus sighed with relief. “I appreciate that.” He looked back and beckoned for Roman to come. He shuffled through the doors, leaving Janus behind, and the three made their way outside.

“Hey, why don’t you stay overnight? It probably isn’t healthy to drive when you’re so tired.” Logan suggested as Remus unlocked his car. Remus and Roman shared a glance, a funny expression, and a shrug.

“I can’t, but thanks.” Was Remus’s reply. Before Logan could say another word, he slammed the car door shut and drove away, leaving Roman and Logan alone in the night.

“Don’t question it.” Roman said. Logan looked over his shoulder to see him shivering. There was hardly a bitterness in the wind that blew through them, but Roman hugged himself tightly.

“We need to get you home.” Logan remarked. Roman stood on the spot quivering, his teeth chattering, and his hands shaking.

“Did Remus ask you to keep an eye on me?” He asked with a tremble. Logan nodded.

“He seemed adamant.”

“And you said you would?”

“Obviously I did. It wouldn’t be safe to leave you to walk home by yourself at this time.” Logan muttered, clicking his fingers. Roman hurried to his side as he walked, trying to keep up with his pace.

“Wait, you walk so quickly…” Roman mumbled. When Logan had slowed down enough for him to catch up, he grabbed the sleeve of his coat and clung to his arm, resting his head against him. Nervously, Logan nudged Roman along, walking him all the way home.

“Wait, please wait…” Roman murmured, each word slurring together into something almost inaudible. Logan stopped. Roman grasped at his coat and nuzzled his face into its fabrics.

“You’re almost home.” Logan soothed, wrapping an arm around his back. He practically collapsed into him. As the wind picked up, one thing became clear: Roman would fall asleep and freeze before making it across the street. Logan looked up to the sky, chose a star to focus on, and sighed.

“I can’t…” Roman whimpered. His legs spent their last moments on the ground quivering in pain – much longer and he surely would have fallen.

“You don’t have to.” Logan took Roman in his arms. “Just rest as much as you can.” He made his way up the stairs to his apartment before finally kicking the door shut behind him and dropping Roman on his sofa with profuse apology – both to Roman and the plants he had kicked on the way.

“Wait!” Roman cried as Logan turned to leave. “I need to show Remus I’m safe. Can you come take a picture with me?” Logan hesitated, but acquiesced.

“I don’t know how to not look bad in pictures so that’s your problem now.” He said. Roman just smiled drowsily. Within seconds, he’d fallen asleep. Logan buried him in a spare blanket before resigning himself to his bedroom for his own slumber.

Logan squirmed in bed and winced; his legs and felt crushed and twisted and torn, his lower torse ached and felt sharp with every move. He groaned as he sat up, resting his head in his hands. Judging by the brightness of his room, how verdant his newly-thriving plants were, he guessed that he’d slept until midday. He went to get dressed nonchalantly until the smell of sickly-sweet caramel waded into the room. He threw on a plain shirt for decency before stumbling through to the kitchen where the smell became so pungent that he had to suppress a gag. At the sound of his clumsy footsteps, Roman turned around and smiled.

“Don’t mind me just using your coffee machine without permission.” He giggled. Logan watched as he poured coffee into two mugs.

“Where did you get caramel coffee?” Logan asked, exasperated.

“You only had boring coffee,” Roman explained, handing Logan a half-full mug, “and honestly? I think we’re at a point where I can admit that you deserve better, so I went out and got some. Just try it.” Logan gazed into the cup hesitantly. Tentatively, he pulled it up and pressed it against his lips. Tilting his head back, he took a small sip while Roman drank almost half of his mug at once. Roman grinned at Logan expectantly.

“It’s not as bad as I expected…” Logan muttered. In truth: it couldn’t have been much worse than he had expected, but Roman didn’t need to know that. “The coffee flavour really saves it from being too sweet.”

“That’s because it’s still coffee.” Roman remarked.

“Astute.”

“If you don’t like it, I’ll take the rest home.”

“Please do.” Logan replied far too earnestly.

“Thanks!” Roman beamed. “Now, show me around your house!” He set his cup down and pressed his hands together. When he smiled, the eye bags under his eyes became clearer. Logan’s legs started to burn. He sighed.

“Fine.” He said. “Follow me.”

For no real reason, Logan saved his bedroom for last. When he opened its door, Roman did exactly as he’d done for every other room: he dove straight to the window to marvel at the view, no matter how basic and generic.

“Woah, you can see a _road_!” He exclaimed with delight.

“You can also see a road from your apartment.” Logan replied with a smile.

“Yeah, but it’s way cooler from _your_ window!” Roman turned away from the window and towards Logan. He squinted before smirking the same way he always did before making a remark. “Is it just me or are you _blushing_? Did I make you _blush_?”

“Don’t flatter yourself!” Logan scoffed. “I blush easily.” He folded his arms across his torso and bit his tongue. Roman pursed his lips. He looked around Logan’s room, his eyes brushing over the walls briefly. Above Logan’s bed hung a yellow and red flag.

“What country is that?” Roman pointed. Logan’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of red.

“It’s Spain. My sister and I are Spanish.” He replied in a hushed tone. He lowered his eyes to the floor and frowned.

“Why do you seem so sad about that?” Roman took a step forward, slowly inching closer to Logan.

“It just feels fake. I know in my head that it’s true, DNA tests don’t lie, but I say it out loud and it feels like I’m making it up.”

“You have a name like Paz, and your sister is called Valentina, and you found out that you’re Hispanic form a DNA test?” Roman snickered. When Logan glared, he stopped.

“I barely knew anything about my family growing up. I don’t have a story to tell about them. I only told Valentina about the results, so nobody else knows.”

“Your parents just happened to give her a Spanish name?”

“She named herself, actually.” Logan smiled. “After she found out about our heritage. She’s trans.” Roman gasped. Logan opened his mouth ready to argue, but any perceived need to do so quickly disappeared.

“That’s cool! I’m happy she figured that out and can be her true self!” Roman replied. Logan grinned and toured Roman around the rest of his home, charmed by the excitement Roman displayed towards everything he had.

Logan walked Roman back to his apartment. Upon saying their goodbyes, Roman stopped. He took a deep breath. He grabbed Logan by the shoulders, and pulled himself up to kiss him on the cheek.

“That was platonic!” Roman stuttered before shutting himself behind the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! :D

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I will be posting this regularly until it's completed! :D


End file.
